The TriWizard Tournament: Fight to the Death
by MarauderTheMockingjay
Summary: Harry Potter. Gryffindor. Friend. Murderer? What if Harry was convicted for murder? What if the Ministry tried a new tactic of punishment other than Azkaban? Harry has a chance to win back his freedom, but at the expense of human lives. When the time comes, will he struggle with his sense of right and wrong, or will the instinct to kill come all too naturally to the 17 year old?
1. The Fiddler in the park

**A/N: Hey, if you are reading this, please leave a review. I don't mind negative comments, as long as they are rational and honest. Enjoy!**

The TriWizard Tournament: Fight to the Death

CHAPTER ONE: The Fiddler in the Park

Twinkling lights bounce around in the distance, shimmering like glitter rain. The surrounding sounds of the night sets a festive mood. Bells are ringing, ringing in the night. A Muggle man, possibly homeless, was sitting on a wrought-iron park bench, entertaining a few people. Children, couples, even teens, all bundled up head-to-toe in winter clothes, were crowded around the older man as he played his heart out on a polished fiddle. People tossed coins into his hat, torn at the brim, and cheered when he finished his fourth song. The crowd dispersed, then was soon replaced by another. What they all had in common was they were all leaving happier, smiling brighter, than they came.

Taking long, confident strides, I walk over to the man, just as his audience dispersed again, tossing a bit of change into the fellow's hat. As I near him, his body intensifies, becoming stiff and unmoving, his shoulders align, chest rising and falling quicker than a few moments ago. Unfazed by his actions, I continue towards him until I am only a few meters away. He eyes me steadily, then roughly clears his throat, causing him to go into a coughing fit. I patiently wait for the man's response to my arrival, because I am sure he has one. After a few more moments of regaining his composure, he spoke up. " 'Ye can't 'ave me gold! I'll 'ave the 'yardies 'ere 'fore 'ye can reach the Glaxen's!" Glaxen's is a nearby pub, real popular with the delinquents and drunks. I merely shake my head, leaving him to assume more about me. A wise man once told me that _" You can learn a lot about a man by how he judges others. The assumptions he makes will reflect his own behavior or mindset." _So I let him think as he pleases, unaware of all the valuable information he is giving me. He looks me over, taking time to assess my attire, trying to form an opinion, no, an idea, of the kind of person I am.

" 'Ye dress too nice to be a thief. But then again, swindlers dress better than anyone 'round here. So are you a swindler? 'Cause if so, I'll 'ave you know, 'me mum was a schoolteacher, taught me 'everythin she knew, so you should 'giv up now!" This man, voice gruff and raspy, had a **thick** southern accent, almost Irish, if you ask me. I stood in silence, thinking about his question deeply. _Am I a swindler?_ I thought about it a few more moments, then spoke up before the man grew impatient with me. " No. But I do have a question to ask, if that's okay with you?" I looked the man in the eye as I spoke, his pale gray irises surround his coal pupils. He stared daggers into me before giving me a curt nod, signaling me to continue. " Well, I was wondering, why were you so quick to label me as untrustworthy?" I ask slowly, watching every muscle in the man's face contort into a shameful expression, one that only lasted a second. He quickly recovered, retreating back to his stony face and untrusting eyes. " Well 'fer one, I saw 'ya standing over near 'va lamppost, 'watchin me strum me 'ol 'fid. I wondered if 'ye was waiting 'fer someone, but 'stead 'ya 'jus stood 'oer 'dere, watching! Then I 'sumed you was some 'sorta 'loon, but 'va way you carried 'yerself, like 'ya 'wudn't 'fraid'v nothing! 'An 'vat put me in a fright! But to answer, I _didn't _trust 'ya 'cause 'ya 'timidated me, and trust, 'vat 'int easy!" He said, somewhat breathlessly. I took in what he said, but stayed silent. " You ain't 'muchuva talker 'ar 'ya?" I shake my head silently, absorbing the information the man is unintentionally giving away. He just shrugged, then reached for his hat off of the ground. I quickly spoke up, stopping him in his tracks. " Wait, sir. Could you play me a song, the one you sung to. I found it quite pleasant." I admitted. He began to object, then he sighed. " I 'fink I know why 'ye was 'standin 'lone. ' Never 'dmit it I bet, but 'ye may be depressed. Me dad died of grief after me Mom's sickness. There was no cure, the 'doc told 'im. He sulked around for weeks 'til one day, 'e just ... dropped." The man's face went from stony to understanding. I stayed silent, waiting for his answer. Without acknowledging me at all he began to play his fiddle, the sound echoing through the night.


	2. A crime commited, a life lost

CHAPTER TWO: A crime committed, a life lost

I left the fiddler soon after his song. He played his heart out, projecting his soul with the deep voice, surprisingly smooth against the bitter cold air outside. He sung of a bitter present and a peaceful past. He sung of the life he would have had if he hadn't made poor choices at a young age, like I have. In approximately 3 hours, 6 minutes, and 34, 33, 32 seconds, I will be apparated to the Ministry of Magic for my trial with the Wizengamot. Just yesterday I was free, free to roam the world, planning a trip to America with my friends. Oh how I'll miss my friends.

I woke with a start, a horrid scent assaulting my nostrils. " What the-" I say, cut off by a nearby scream as I sat up in my four-poster.

" Hermione!" I heard Ron yell. I jumped out of my bed, quickly putting on my glasses, then grabbing my wand. Another scream.

" Hermione!" I yelled, looking for the owner of the scream. I ran down the stairs to the common room, frantically searching for Hermione, and the source of that terrible scent! My eyes dart around the room, searching for any sign of life. To my disappointment, it was completely deserted.

Quickly coming to my senses, I push past the portrait and run for the Great Hall. The scent grows stronger the closer to the Hall I get, but Hermione's voice grows farther away. I stop, panicking at the thought of her and Ron in danger, then run in the opposite direction.

I begin to hear Hermione again, screaming and laughing loudly. Wait... laughing?

I quicken my pace, growing more and more confused as the volume of her shouts and laughter grow. Then I hear it. The tell-tale

whoosh **_of a broom stick. Then a few seconds later I hear something else, Ron's laughter. _**

I am instantly calmed, remembering that Ron said her would take Hermione out to the Quidditch pitch today.

She is fine, Harry. **_I thought to myself, feeling like an idiot suddenly._**

I ruffle my messy hair, making it more untidy than before, then head back to the dormitory, barefoot. The smooth cobblestone floors were cold to touch, but almost therapeutic to the soles of my feet.

" Golden foal." I say quietly to the Fat Lady, feeling oddly empty. I wait for the portrait to swing open, but it doesn't. I forward, closely examining the painting. To my surprise, The Fat Lady wasn't even present on the painting, in fact it looked as if she left in a hurry.

They say that the portraits in Hogwarts can sense danger before it strikes. Although it's never been proven, many still trust the instincts of the paintings' inhabitants. This was the case. I quickly turned on my heel and ran down the abandoned corridor yelling at the top of my lungs, " POISON! THERE IS POISON IN THE AIR! EVERY ONE GET OUT, NOW!"

My eyelids were growing heavy as I heard the sound of scrambling and panic. Good. If they can panic, they are alert. My vision started swaying, making my head spin circles around my thoughts. Where was the exit? I couldn't remember. Someone crashed into me, and kept running. I fell to the ground hard, losing my wand in the process. I was getting stepped on, kicked, and ignored. Everyone just might stampede me to death!

I try standing, but just then someone steps on my ankle, crushing the bones, causing me to scream in pain. This time the person stopped, and walks back to me. My brain fogging up from the fumes and pain, was causing me to have double vision. I know the boy, but I can't quite place him. I don't care to place him though, because he is now laughing at me.

Someone kicks my wand back in my direction.

The last thing I remember before blacking out, was the look on Goyle's face when he was engulfed by the Fiend Fyre.

That's it. That's why I am going to the ministry, because I murdered Vincent Goyle, with dark magic. The only reason I wasn't thrown straight into Azkaban is because I saved hundreds of innocent lives from the poison (which is under current investigation), and because I may have been under a imperious curse. I knew I was angry, but not angry enough to kill. Besides, my ankle could be healed, but if you die, well let's just say its permanent.

2 hours, 17 minutes, and 10, 9, 8 seconds until my trial.


	3. Really short chapter! Sorry!

CHAPTER 3:

0 hours, 5 minutes, and 45, 44, 43, seconds until I am magically summoned by the Ministry of Magic.

I slipped back into my temporary living quarters in the knick of time, after taking the Knight Train from the park. Lucky for me, Stan Shunpike was unaware of my criminal status, and Ernie is blind as a bat. I had no trouble getting back in my room, since Glenn, the Auror assigned to me block, was a bit of a slacker (a slob, and an arrogant git!) He mostly slept through his shift, but conveniently wakes before he's caught. Although I've only been in here for 16 hours, 56 minutes, and 12, 13, 14, seconds, I know this place like the back of my hand.

I **really** miss my friends.

I tip-toe over to my too-small cot, and lower myself onto it silently. 0 hours, 3 minutes, and 51, 50, 49, seconds until my trial.

They'll all be there. My professors, my fellow classmates, my friends. They'll all be there.

I reach over to the bedside table for the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. On the cover is a moving photograph of me being dragged away by a squad of Aurors, my body lifeless. The cover read in large, bolded letters:

**"THE CHOSEN ONE: A RUTHLESS KILLER?"**

I quickly flip open to the listed page, then sought out the first few lines, it read:

**Harry James Potter, 6th year Gryffindor at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has been arrested for the murder of Vincent Goyle, a Slytherin 6th year. Sources say that Potter torched the Slytherin with Fiend Fyre, but others suggest that no Dark Magic was used at all. Today, 'the chosen one' will be tried for his crimes, and we can only expect that justice be served.**

I scanned the page for branching articles, and sure enough I found the page number for an additional article pertaining my situation. It was titled **"Gryffindor witch plans to share her knowledge of the tragic event at Hogwarts during the upcoming trial."**

Gryffindor witch? HERMIONE?

**A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update! I've been so busy, and I had to replace my laptop. I will try to update this story, as well as my other two ASAP. On another note, I wouldn't mind some feedback every now and then from you guys! **

**Thank you so much for reading, and stay tuned for the next chapter!**

** ~MarauderTheMockingjay~**


	4. A new form of punishment

CHAPTER 4: A new form of punishment

0 hours, 0 minutes, and 36, 35, 34, seconds until I am summoned to the Ministry. I am currently pacing back and forth across my 'holding cell'. All I can think about is what Hermione would tell the Wizengamot. Would she tell them that I _am_ a ruthless killer, or that I was cursed or jinxed?

Honestly though, I don't believe I was cursed or jinxed. I believe that I just snapped, something in me just went awry. In that moment, when I created the Fiend Fyre, I didn't feel anything really. No guilt, no compassion, not even humanity. I felt alien, being surrounded by the other students, like I didn't belong. But I don't mean like 'fit in' belong, I mean 'fish out of water'. A shadow was momentarily cast over my conscience, forcing me to rely on pure instinct. That was to kill. Times up. I am suddenly vacuumed into solid space, if that makes any since. It was heavy, bone-crushing' airway-constricting heavy. The light that surrounded me was blinding, yet I was blanketed in darkness. The never-ending fall into the abyss nauseating. I felt like I was on an infinite rollercoaster to Hades. Everything in me, my bones, my brain, and my stomach, lurched forward as all the movement in this world ceased. I began to feel again. My feet were on the ground, my hands were tightly clutching my wand (which has temporarily been deactivated), and my eyes closed. I opened my eyes to the most pleasant sight, my professors from Hogwarts, my friends, and Hermione, my best friend. They were standing near the front entrance of the atrium, engrossed in a serious conversation, by the looks of it. Professor Lupin then spots me and points towards me, saying something to the rest of the group. He was giving me a sad smile. Hermione was the first to turn around, then the rest. They all looked deeply depressed, or maybe that's disappointment in their eyes? I never find out, because a trio of Aurors burst through the West entrance, the doors I was standing near. They marched towards me. One with a large, grey, handlebar mustache, and eyes silver as bullets, told me in a very intimidating, very authoritative, deep voice that projected off of each wall, each statue, that "**_it was only protocol_**". He confiscated my wand, placing it in a glowing glass container that he pulled from thin air. The younger gentleman with dark hair, eyes the color of sea foam, and a jagged scar just below his jawline to the left-side, cuffed me on my wrists and ankles. The third Auror, looked to be older than Dumbledore! His grey beard barely brushing against the floor as he walked. His irises were a pale violet, almost lavender, but had violent streaks of white-blue, like a thunderstorm was occurring behind his eyes. He simply waved me over to follow him, I obliged.

As we entered the somewhat noisy 'courtroom', a hush fell over the room. I kept my gaze down, as I saw when I first entered, many grew pale. I just don't want someone thinking that I'm going to target them [next]. The older Auror took me to the center of the room, and firmly told me to sit. His tone of voice was quiet but assertive. He reminded me **a lot **Dumbledore! I sat, ready to face what coming, all the consequences of my actions. The I saw her. She was sitting in the witness stand, her expression unreadable. I begin to say something, but then Director Bones cast the Sonorus spell to project her voice.

**" Ahem! Order, now. I am Madame Amelia Bones, Director of the Ministry's Auror Department, Head of the Wizengamot, Co-founder of the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team, and presiding judge of this internal affair. Before we begin, there are some important pieces of information that I am required by law to notify you all of. The use of the Azkaban Island Penitentiary is currently prohibited, by law and instruction of the Minister of Magic. Instead, if the crime committed is the equivalent of at least 15 years in Azkaban (No one has ever lived past 13 years in Azkaban), which is basically the death sentence, they will instead be sent into The Triwizard Tournament. In the tournament, each selected convict, or as they shall be know, tribute, shall be accompanied with one volunteered partner. Once a witch or wizard volunteers, there is no retreating. If the tribute can complete all the tasks in the arena, and bring back their partner alive, they will be granted the option of an appeal, and can bargain their way out of Azkaban. If no one volunteers, then a person at random will be reaped by the magic of the _Ignis Calix, _or 'Goblet of Fire'. There will be 12 tributes, 12 volunteers, and one common goal, stay alive. Let the trial begin with the testimony of one Hermione Jean Granger."**

My stomach dropped through the obsidian floors, my sanity slowly slipping away from me again. I must stay anchored! I then think about the fiddler, and his song.

_The pain doesn't hurt, just the sight of her,_

_photo on a grave, body in the dirt,_

_packed so tight, that my grip became loose,_

_I'd buy the universe for her, but instead she chose noose,_

_I didn't do enough, I always did her wrong,_

_she deserved so much better, so I wrote her this song._

_The pain never subsides, _

_nightmares piercing through the night,_

_I'd replace the darkness with the light,_

_of your smile,_

_Even if it was just for a little while._

Then I wondered if I'll ever love someone that much, so much that my soul would be corrupt without her.

Hermione began to speak, all ears anxiously tuned in. She didn't look at me once and spoke. " Harry James Potter is not a murderer. But I cannot deny the fact that it was Harry who conjured the Fiend Fyre that killed Vincent Goyle. I had just entered the castle with my friend Ron, when I smelled something peculiar. It made my head dizzy and my eyes watery. I then heard Harry yelling that there was poison in the air. Ron and I turned to exit the way we came, but were swept sideways, towards Harry, by the tidal wave of incoming students. The smell was overpowering, clouding my mind, but I managed to stay upright, for the most part. I had stumbled a few times, and had been stepped on more than a few times. I searched for Ron, but he disappeared, so I followed the wave of students towards Harry's voice, barely audible over the crowds panic. When I finally spotted him, he had a glazed look in his eyes, like he was in serious pain. Then he cast the spell that caused the death of Goyle."

Then Amelia nodded, took a vote, and I was found guilty.


	5. Luck

**A/N: Please review! Enjoy this chapter!**

CHAPTER 5: Luck

I am now convinced that I just may be a killer. Director Bones and the rest of the Wizengamot found me guilty, almost without hesitation. My stomach fell through the floor, as did all my hope, when I realized what this meant. I would have to go in the arena, and some unlucky bloke will have to come along. Scratch that- not a bloke. After the verdict, a very curly, pink, plump, short woman stood and added another bit to the already dreadful set of rules for the Triwizard competition. _"**Also, the volunteer or reaped partner, will of course be of the opposite gender. We want to give witches and wizards the equal opportunities to become a wealthy celebrity in the wizarding world!**"_Her enthusiasm was sickening. Anyways, I'll have to bring a witch back alive to gain my freedom, but I know that is unlikely. You see I have the worst luck in the universe!

When the verdict was reached, Hermione was barely from the stands. She was doing so well too. But when her ears picked up the solid "Guilty." she literally collapsed. I mean she went white as paper, her eyes filling with salty tears. She looked at me then. Her soul in her beautiful brown eyes. They pleaded for forgiveness, they screamed guilt. I then knew that she feels she has brought this upon me, and it hurts. It hurts that I can't tell her not to worry, that I will be okay and make it back. It hurts that I can't tell her she did the best she could, and that I greatly appreciate her effort. But what hurts me the most is the knowing look she had as the Aurors assisted her from the Atrium. A look that says she would make up for it all. It hurts me because there is only one way she could do that, and that is to volunteer as my partner.

After the trial, I was sent back to my temporary quarters to gather my things and say goodbye to my 'family'. I went ahead and used the Floo Network, so I could have a chance to mentally prepare myself for the soon-to-come confrontation. I'll call it a confrontation until they all make their intentions clear, but I'm sure they'll have loads of questions. Glenn told me that they could only visit me individually, but anyone could come (I also swore I heard him mutter something like "but if they are the least bit sane..."). I was anxious about it all, but mostly fearful that I wouldn't be able to talk Hermione out of volunteering. Hey, maybe today could be my lucky day. Maybe she wasn't planning on volunteering, maybe I'm just horrible at reading expressions. But, maybe she won't even come, maybe she senses that I would try to stop her and didn't want to be convinced otherwise. Hermione has always been a tad stubborn, but I'd never tell. My heart skipped a beat when I heard the distinct *pop* of apparition, and the discontinued snoring of my lazy guard. Glenn groaned as he opened the door for a certain lanky redhead.

"Harry." He says cautiously, as if testing the waters of my mental stability. "Ron, you have no need to be on guard with me, though it wouldn't be without reason. But please, put your wand away. I am obviously unarmed." I say quietly. Ron probably hadn't even noticed he was tightly gripping his wand, it pointed in my direction, leveled at his waist. His ears went awfully red as he loosened up his grip, dropping his arm to his side. " Sorry." He muttered. There was a long period of silence before another word was spoken. Eventually, it was Ron who spoke up, though I was growing weary of the quiet as well. " Harry, I hope you know that we all believe you were a bit out of it when you cast that curse. I personally believe it was the poison, plus a bit of rage. But we cannot ignore the fact that another student died at your hands. You eventually have to stop running from the truth, and accept your truly unfortunate fate." As I took that in, I soon wished that I was dead. I wish I would have burned in the Fyre, my tainted soul charred to the core. I wished I was asleep, and only dreaming a terribly vivid nightmare, only to wake up to my loving 'family' in the morning light. I wished I could just slip silently into that eternal sleep I am yearning, because I am fairly tired of dealing with my problems. That's all I can do, deal.

I just nodded and reached for a friendly handshake, dismissing Ron from the painful visit. Ron didn't take his hand. Instead, he quickly embraced him, and after a light pat on the back, exited. But not before saying, "Good luck, Harry." The banged shut. The *pop* of apparation. The resumed snoring of my door-sloth.

Maybe 10 minutes later, another visitor arrived. I was still pacing when she entered. The eccentric Ravenclaw that everyone without a filter call "Loony". Her visit surprised me, but lifted my spirits none the less. She was always pleasant company. She and I made small talk until she brought up Ginny. "She won't be able to come, but she asked me to wish you luck. She also wrote you a letter, confessing her undying love for you, and a load of fluffy words. It is really quite time consuming, plus a bit redundant, so I won't bother delivering it to you. I found it sweet that she wrote it, but it's redundant, regardless." She then zoned out, leaving me blush my cheeks red as roses. I guess I always knew Ginny fancied me, but to know that she was **absolutely mad** for me was another thing entirely. I pretend to be concentrating on twirling my ring on my index finger. It was a gift from Sirius before he died. It was a golden band with obsidian engravings if the words "Mischief Managed". It was my dad's Marauder ring from his Hogwarts days. Luna soon refocused on me, then bid me goodbye with a gentle hug. Before she could walk away, I grabbed her hand. "Wait, Luna. Um... before you go, I wanted to thank you. Your visit was...very pleasant. So-um-thanks?" It came out more as a question, so I just dropped her hand in defeat. But she surprised me when she said, " No need to thank me Harry. It's what friends are for. Just know the _Luck of the Lovegoods_ is always with you." She said dreamily, floating towards the door. "I'll keep that in mind..." I muttered even though she was out of earshot. What an odd girl?

The next few visitors go by in a flash. All start off quiet and hesitant, then end with little closure, and some wished luck. I absently wondered where they get all of this luck, surely some of it has to be borrowed? This was while I awkwardly pat the back of a certain crying Metamorphmagi. It surprised me when she started bawling, but I didn't say anything, just sat her down and patted her back until she decided to leave. Gladly she didn't wish me luck, because it is hard to come by these days.


	6. A deal with a snake

**A/N: Sorry readers, for the delay! I have been really busy lately with some school projects and prepping for upcoming exams. I will try to manage my time better, but for now, I will update whenever I can. This chapter is a bit longer, since it's been a while since last update. Please enjoy and review!**

CHAPTER 6: A deal with a snake

Hermione hadn't come, neither did Hagrid. I had already assumed Hermione wouldn't want to wish me off, but Hagrid's absence left me kind of...empty. I just assumed he would always be there for me, but seeing the circumstances I can understand, I am a convicted killer of course.

Right about now, the Ministry should be sending extra guards(I guess Glenn let it slip that I had been out the night I met the fiddler.) and Aurors for the entire cell block I'm in. Plus the Opening (As Remus put it) was tomorrow. The Opening is when all the witches in Europe, Asia, and America are eligible to volunteer. No one ever explained why America and Asia were even put in the mix, but Dean just assumed it was to up the entertainment factor. Oh, did I mention this was to be televised? The Opening, our 3 day training period, and the Triwizard Competition. All on a mandatory viewing schedule. I just hope someone volunteers, because if some young girl has the unfortunate fate of being reaped, I'll...I'll lose it (officially).

Ever since Tonks left, which was about 4 hours ago, I've been having some _really _ dark thoughts. I don't know if my plan will work, but I have to at least try, for Hermione's sake. I have a feeling that if she does volunteer, it wouldn't be solely because of me. She is clever enough to realize it won't be just my life in danger, but that of the witch who is forced(or not) to accompany me into the arena. Sometimes I love her so much, I can't help but hate her for it. When I say I love her, I don't mean like Romeo and Juliet. Although I couldn't imagine my life without her. She is so bright, so beautiful, so loving, and so accepting. She'd be my dream girl, if Ron wasn't smitten. Even if wouldn't admit it, anyone with enough sense to tell the difference between a pumpkin and hippogriff, could clearly see it. The way he looks at her when she speaks, the way he turns red as a beet when she hugs him, the way he sends smug looks at anyone who even seems guilty of speaking bad about her. It was obvious to everyone, except a certain Granger. Like I was saying, Ron is my best friend, and he clearly is in love with our mutual best friend, so who am I to jeopardize the happiness of them both. Besides, I never really saw Hermione like that, then again, I never really saw anyone like that.

Just then there was a knock at my door, faint, but audible enough for me to rule out it was not just my neighbors' door. I legs were achy from pacing back and forth, I hadn't sat down since George came, which was this morning, and its 7:52:06. I don't remember when I began counting the seconds, but I have kept up with the time quite accurately. I slowly walk towards the dark wooden door, I bet its Mahogany. Probably just Glenn coming to tell me the Aurors had arrived. I twist the print-covered brass doorknob, expecting to be knocked unconscious by Glenn's dragon breath, but no one is at the door. Curiously I lean my head out the door frame, peeking around the corner, but I saw no one other than a loudly snoring slacker of a guard. I was tempted to steal his keys and get out again, but decided against it. Assuming I was hearing things I pulled my head back in and closed my door back quietly, I even locked it for good measure.

I was just about to continue pacing when I heard it, the unmistakable sound of a cloak be whipped off. I turned around at the speed of lightning, reaching for my wand before I remembered it was confiscated earlier. I wonder if I would be able to use it in the arena? I looked up to a _very _surprising sight. Hermione was standing in front of me, my invisibility cloak in hand, and a small but sad grin on her face. Instinctively, I would have ran up to embrace her, but after all that has happened today, I'm not really sure how to handle this. I didn't really expect her to come. It was clearly after the designated visiting time, and it was really...Gryffindor of her to sneak in here. I was just a foot or two away from her, my arms crossed over my chest. " I'd say it's safe to assume you didn't just Waltz through the front door?" I asked more than stated. She just beamed at me and stepped a bit closer. We were approximately 13 inches away from each other, and I have been aware of her presence for 1 minute, 18 seconds. I let my arms fall to my sides, no longer guarding myself from her. She then replied quietly, and still smiling, " It takes two to Waltz, Harry. Have I taught you nothing?" She asked quietly, ending with a brisk laugh. She was more than likely referring to our Summer arrangements.

Last summer, Hermione invited me, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville to attend this Muggle dance convention with her. It covered a wide range of styles, and seemed like a greater way to spend my break, rather than be a slave to the awful Dursley's. I accepted, but everyone else turned down the offer. Ron and Ginny couldn't come because their annual Weasley family trip was scheduled around the time of the convention. Luna had to help her dad with The Quibbler, but was really interested in being taught by Muggles. Neville was set on going, but his Grandmother became ill, so he stayed back to care for her. Hermione was reluctant to continue the trip, since her parents had only allowed her to fly to New York when she said she would be inviting friends. Of course I wouldn't let up. It was possibly a once in a lifetime chance, since the convention was held every 30 years. With Voldemort in hiding, I say my days are still limited, just extended for the time being. Hermione's folks were a bit disappointed that everyone couldn't make it, but when they saw my enthusiasm, they readily accepted. Long story short, Hermione and I had a blast, we met a surprising amount of undercover wizards and witches, we were both enriched culturally, and our friendship became even closer knit. On our plane ride back from the trip, Hermione and I had a different type of conversation.

**" You know Ginny is mad for you right?" She asked nonchalantly. She was examining her nails, while I had my head leaned against the window, picturing myself outside the jet plane and on my Firebolt. The coolness of the glass was soothing to burning scar(Voldemort was having some intense emotions at the time, he was searching for a new host for his soul, without any luck I might add).**

**" I guess." I replied tiredly. I knew Hermione and Ginny were friends, but I really didn't feel like talking about the redhead. She has been "in love" with my title as the boy-who-lived since before she started Hogwarts! I had tolerated her since she was Ron's little sister, but beyond that, I didn't really affiliate myself with her.**

**" What about you?" She asked quietly.**

**" What about me?" I say as I turn my head towards the bushy-haired-brunette. Her hair was actually quite subdued now, I wonder if it has anything to do with the plane?**

**" Well...she wanted me to ask... ask you out for her." She said finally, and I swore she sighed in defeat.**

**" No offense, but I barely know her, and I doubt she _truly _knows me." I say hotly. I was tired of her childish attempts to 'make me hers'!**

**" Fine." She said after a moment of quiet. She looked away soon after, but I saw a smile creep across her face as she plugged ear buds into her ears.**

**I just looked at her, my gaze probably overly intense, since her ears turned a few shades pinker. She removed one of her ear buds, and paused her music to look at me.**

**" What is it, Harry?" She said finally, barely suppressing a laugh.**

**" I just wanted to know what you were grinning about?" I ask playfully, but I did really want to know.**

**" I don't know. I guess I like the idea of you being...available." She answers quietly, a small smile on her face as she turns away from me.**

**" Oh." I say lost at words. Since neither one of us had anything more to say, we settled into a comfortable silence.**

***END OF** **FLASHBACK***

" I guess not." I say, returning her smile gratefully. Moments seem like hours as I find myself lost in her bright brown eyes. They have so much clarity, it was like staring through the window of a home, or in this case, her soul. Her eyes once again revealed something more, this wasn't just a social visit, and she may be hiding something.

" Hermione, did you bring someone with you?" I ask quietly, then begin to pace around her in a circle. Her smile dropped, confirming my suspicions. She just nods.

I walk the full length of the room, then back to Hermione. " Tell your company to reveal themselves." I command a bit annoyed that she didn't tell me she wasn't alone. She just stood there, silent and unmoving, but her expression made me catch my breath. She had a sad look on her face, like I have just broken the fragile thread that was holding her together.

Overwhelmed, I take a chance and move closer to her. I cautiously open my arms, offering her a hug. Hermione didn't hesitate to accept, as she stepped into my arms, letting the tears fall free. " Sshh. It's going to be alright, Hermione. I'm sorry. I've ruined this for you haven't I? Please, forgive me?" I whispers softly in her ear, as she rests her head on my shoulder. Her shampoo smells like cinnamon. After a few minutes, she stops crying, but is still holding on to me. I carefully walk us over to my bed, and I sit her down on the mattress. She was reluctant to let go at first, but she did eventually. Hermione just placed her head on my pillow and stared straight ahead.

After a few moments she spoke up. " It's alright, Harry. I don't blame you for my insecurities. But this visit wasn't exactly about me." She started to sit up, so I helped her the rest of the way up. " Thank you, Harry." She said with a sad smile. It broke my heart to see her like this. " No problem, Hermione. I am glad you came, I really am, but what is the reason you came here?" That sounded a whole lot better in my head. She looks more past me than at me, but replies. " I came because I know what you are thinking, more or less so. You probably knew exactly what was going through my mind when they said the verdict. My first thought was that I would accompany you to the arena, because I felt responsible. That was the plan until I met Katniss." I was confused, so I voiced my thoughts. " Who is that?" I inquire. " She's a Slytherin in our year. She didn't know Goyle too well, but heard many of the tales of Draco's gangs' antics. Katniss figured I was telling the truth, and sympathized with you. I don't know how, but she managed to deduce that I was going to volunteer, and she felt bad for me too. I've never talked to her before today, but she seems genuine." She finished quietly.

" Did you bring her? It's already dangerous for you to be here!" Say just a little too loud, my temper suddenly rising. Hermione just meets my eyes, a little fear in the cappuccino pools. " What do you mean _dangerous_? What has happened?" She asks anxiously. Hermione worries about me too much. I just don't think it's healthy, since I am always in dangerous situations. I didn't want for her to worry more, but I couldn't lie to her. " Um...well-I-" I started before interruption. Hermione grabbed my shoulders and shook my lightly, yet effectively. " Spit it out, Harrison!" That sobered me up quickly. She only used my real name when she meant business. " Oh, alright. A few hours before the hearing, I went out for a...stroll. Glenn, the Auror by the door, found out I left, and let it slip to the guys above him. Long story short, dozens more Aurors are on their way here to reinforce the security of the place, because of me." I look away from her, a little ashamed. When I peeked back, she was smiling, her hands still on my shoulders, but her grip loosened. Hermione then wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me closer to her. I was forced to sit on the bed to do so. She held me closer to her, her head on my shoulder again. " That sounds a lot like something you would do, Harry. I guess that's why I-" She broke off the gentle whispering when the door opened hastily.

" Hermione, what took you so- Oh. Am I interrupting something?" The visitor was a girl with storm grey eyes, hair as dark as fresh brewed coffee, and a remarkably beautiful face. Hermione and I jumped apart, at her startling entrance, but Hermione's features softened when she recognized the girl. " Oh, Harry, this is Katniss Everdeen, the girl who plans to volunteer to go with you. But first, she has a- ah...business proposal?" This was one of the rare moments where Hermione was unsure of herself, I'll blame it on the timing. " Yeah, I guess you can call it that." The girl had a peculiar accent. " No you weren't interrupting anything." I quickly added, before she began to draw conclusions. I do wonder what Hermione was going to say, though. " Where are you from? I just found your accent...most unusual." I attempt to ask in a friendly tone. I don't want her to think I'm trying to pry. She replies. " Well, you sure are blunt aren't you?" She asks with a laugh, before plopping down in the chair I occupied before Hermione "grabbed" me. I will assume that the question was rhetorical. Hermione cut in before the silence got too long. Katniss was just looking me over, as if deciding if I'm venomous or not. " Okay, so this business proposal, Katniss would you like to share?" She asked politely. " Not now. All you need to know, Potter, is that I am going in the arena with you. I couldn't just sit and watch you and your gi- uh...friend, walk straight into your death. You two are exceptional, perhaps exceedingly so, at magic, but neither of you would stand a chance without magic. In the arena, you need to be able to do more than fight, you have to be able to survive. That's where I come in. Where I came from, we had to fight for survival on a regular basis. We either hunt, or starve. Protect what little you had, or lose it all. Survive, or die. I have become an expert at surviving, making me a game-changing asset in these games." She finishes, her face projecting a tone of seriousness.

" Where are you from again?" I ask once more a few moments later.

" Since it's so important to you, Panem. A year after my dad was killed in a mining accident, I received a letter from Hogwarts, saying I was magical, and needed to go to Diagon Alley. I didn't leave right away, though. Too many people relied on me bringing in game each day, even then. So I declined, and returned to my world with a new awareness. I bow-hunted each day with my friend Gale. I told him about the school when I was fourteen. He said I have gone, and should try to contact the headmaster ASAP, if possible. I always trusted his instincts, but it took his death in the games 5 months later to really convince me to pursue my...fate. 'The citizens of my area have made it before I was around, they can do it again' was what went through my mind as I said goodbye to my little sister and mom. Hagrid came and flew me to the school when I was fourteen, and I've been taking summer courses to catch up since then." I went completely slack-jawed when Katniss finished. Although her face didn't show it, just like Hermione, her eyes gave it all away. This girl was broken beyond repair, yet she still managed to have hope. That is true bravery. I wonder why she isn't a Gryffindor? " If you were wondering, and I am willing to bet you were, I am in Slytherin because I am the Heir to Salazar himself. Headmaster Dumbledore has been researching, and it seems like I may be his last living descendant, with the exception of Tom Riddle, of course." I was taken aback by this, leaving me just staring at her like she was just some new exotic creature. It took Hermione clearing her throat to bring me back to my senses. " It seems like a great deal, a miraculous turn of event, and it is, but do not forget it comes with a cost." She says matter-of-factly. " Oh yeah. What about the deal?" I ask, taking the hint.

" We'll deal with that later, wrap this meeting up soon, because your doorman just received and owl from the Ministry saying the Aurors are to be arriving in about 10 minutes." And with that, she exited the room, leaving Hermione and I with an uncomfortable silence to tend to.

" So...what was it you were saying before your friend came in?" I ask innocently.

" Oh, um... I forgot. I think we should get going. It was really nice talking to you...sort of. I just don't want to be here when the Aurors arrive. I guess I'll see you at the Opening?" It sounded more like a question.

" Yeah, I'll definitely be there." I say sarcastically, causing both of us to laugh lightly. I stood first, then grabbed her hand to pull her up. Much to her surprise, and my pleasure, I spun her around, into my arms, and looked down into her beautiful eyes. " If I've never told you before, or don't get the chance to again, just know that you are the most beautiful person I know. Please just don't forget it, Hermione." I speak softly to her, as if she was a delicate flower that I was willing to grow. In a way, she was that. I always knew she was pretty insecure about a lot of things, but today really showed me how much so. " Thank you, Harry. I-I love you, so much." She said, barely above a whisper, tears filling her eyes. " I know, Hermione. Now go, and be safe. Owl me when you make it back to the Castle, okay?"

" Alright." And after another heartfelt hug, and an unexpected kiss on my cheek, she was gone.

The Aurors arrived 5 minutes, and 47 seconds later, but they didn't disturb me at all. I heard a ton of shuffling and small talk through my door, but no one entered, and I was glad for it. I had a lot to think about.


	7. Rocket and the Opening

CHAPTER 7: Rocket and the Opening

Bugatti Veyron. I know that Ron would probably laugh if I told him this, but that's my dream car. That is also the type of car that will be driving me to the Opening. It wasn't the original plan, but Gunther thought my great taste just might get me some sponsors. Oh yeah, Gunther is my mentor for the Triwizard competition. He'll be on the sidelines during training, guiding and advising me. Sponsors are very important, so I have to get them to notice me, (as if I was a nobody). I am**_ 'the boy who l__ived'_ **and more recently**_ 'the boy who killed his classmate'_**. I'd be surprised if every witch or wizard on the planet hadn't even heard an utter of my name.

The magnificent automobile was waiting outside of the building, the chauffeur was a dapper squib with a dazzling smile. Apparently he was a well known actor from Cuba, and volunteered for the job. He was in town, and knew how to operate cars; The ministry didn't want to risk hiring a muggle. I was dressed in a paper-white button-up, with a grey and blue pinstripe tie and a jacket to match it. I had light grey slacks, and a pair of deep blue dragon skin shoes that pinched my toes. My black hair was to my surprise, very tame; a wizard barber gave me what he called a "Hitler Youth" style, since he thought it suited me. Very reassuring.

Gunther was dressed similarly, but with a spearmint green color instead. The 25 year-old looked like he could be my father, but with his age being an issue, I'd stick with brother. His eyes weren't green though. In fact, his eyes were an intense rusty color, like an old bike that has been out in one-too-many rainstorms. I've only known Gunther for a few hours, since it was apparently required for me to meet my mentor before my companion is chosen, or more certainly volunteers. He seems like a pretty cool guy, but can be serious when necessary; I could definitely tell that getting on his bad side would be a dire mistake.

The reality of the situation didn't rear-end me until about a few hours ago. A Slytherin girl was going to willingly accompany me to a government-run death match. Plus, my best friend was convinced she meant well, and I usually trust her instincts. _Until one day, I didn't. The gaping wound Sirius' death left still emanates pain from time to time, refreshing the grief and guilt that came along with that fatal night._ Katniss seemed like a strong character, and didn't seem the least bit like the menacing, lying, and deceitful snakes her house is known for. The mere fact that she was not only Muggleborn, but was out of country, practically orphaned, started school three years late, _and_ was her towns main food supplier, left me flabbergasted. But that wasn't the even the best part, she was as beautiful as the wildflowers that grow in the green houses at Hogwarts, her skin nearly flawless; with the exception of her calloused hands. She left her Telly-card information on the chair, leaving it up to me if I wanted to further discuss the arrangements and plan.

I called her after digesting all that had happened, maybe an hour and thirty-nine minutes after I received their owl. I was hesitant at first, not really knowing what I wanted to discuss, but I had one question on my tongue.

_**"Uh...this is Lord Harrison James Potter of the House Potter, Black, and Gryffindor. May I please speak to a Katniss Everdeen?" My voice crept up my throat eventually. I wasn't used to communicating like this, although I've owned the card for months now. A soft voice responded. "It's me Harry. No need to be all formal with me, now state your case." She said, accompanied with an airy laugh. Relief passed through me in an instant. I then took the chance of turning on the camera of my Telly-card**_** (**for those of you who don't know, a Telly-card is a fictional object that I created in my first fanfic. Its basic functions are placing calls and sending messages, but what sets it apart is that its is only the size and width of a credit card. Most contact is via video chat.**)_and I'm met with those consuming grey eyes again. _**

**_I get lost in her mesmerizing irises, before being snapped back into reality by the clearing of her throat. "It's not polite to stare, Harry; or keep a women waiting, so get along with your reason for ringing me in the middle of the night." She didn't shout at me, in fact she was smiling, but I noticed the way her voice changed, as if she was trying to conceal something. _**_What in Helga Hufflepuff's name am I even talking about? I barely know this girl, yet I assume I know all of her emotions, all of the things that make her tick, and when she is hiding something. I didn't dare question her about it, since it wouldn't be the ideal way to begin a conversation._

**_"Oh. I was just calling to ask you, if you feel comfortable asking, why do your hands seem so much...rougher, than the rest of you?" The shocked look on her face sends me into panic as I know I could have worded that better. "Ah! So-sooryy! Please don't kill me?" I blurt out without thinking. In return, she just laughed. "Yup, very blunt. I will gladly answer your question, again. I am an archer, remember? Professor Sprout saw me shoot once; she asked if I was a child of Apollo!" We both laughed and she continued. " Every morning, before school, before my sister, Prim, and my mom woke; I would head to the electric fence that surrounded district 12." I gasp, astonished that there is an electric fence. " What the was the fence keeping out, and what is a district 12?" I ask, utterly befuddled. Once again, she laughs, which in turn causes me to laugh. Then her face tenses up and she looks away. I begin to ask what the matter was; she quickly 'shushes' me, by putting her index finger to her lips. Gradually, I grow anxious as to what was going on, but was soon reassured when she resumed talking. _**

**_"Sorry," She said. "Pansy was uttering in her sleep again. Sometimes its tough to tell if she is awake or not." She says calmly, but in a noticeably quieter tone. I follow her example and respond in a near whisper; besides, I think I heard the footsteps of an Auror pass my door a few times. "Ah, Parkinson. Is she really the bully she portrays herself as in public?" I inquired. Katniss smirks and replies, "Even if she was, I'm not a gossip." The disbelief displayed on my face must have given her the satisfaction she was aiming for, because she began silently chuckling; her dark curls dancing on her shoulders. _**

**_"Now, back to your question, Harry. District 12 is the last of all districts; Panem once consisted of 13, but that was before the rebellion. 12 supplies the coal for the ruling state, the capitol. Once a year, each of the districts have to supply the capitol with two tributes, much like the Triwizard Tournament, for a battle to the death. This one though, goes by the name of The Hunger Games. Only one person can leave the arena, and the winner is bathed in riches, admired by many, and gains immunity for future Games. I lost my best-friend and hunting partner in the Games held the year I left. He was only 16, and murdered by 15 year-old, ax-wielding maniac. The Games are hosted for the purpose of 1) entertaining the capitol citizens, and 2) reminding the districts just how much we are at the mercy of the capitol's wrath. Oh yeah, and the fences aren't to prevent anything from breaching the premises, they are their to keep us from escaping." She said all of this like we were talking about the weather, but the way the words flew out let me know that this must have been practiced and perfected by the Slytherin. I was stunned into silence after hearing about the cruelty of her world._**

**_"Well, if you can survive all that, and provide for several families at the age you were, I wouldn't want anyone less than the warrior you prove yourself to be; to accompany me in the arena. Thank you Katniss, for everything, and know that I will do everything in my power to bring us back home." I add with a smile._**

**_I bid her goodnight and thanked her once more before hanging up the Telly-card. I then fell into a dreamless sleep, no longer dreading the event to come._**

**_*END OF FLASHBACK* _**

Rocket, Gunther's pet turtle, sat in a tank in the corner of the bigger-on-the-inside vehicle. The blood-red car was charmed similarly to the tent at the Quidditch World Cup (_this is AU, so there was no Triwizard tournament in 4th year. There was also no Death-eater attack, as I would love to keep this story Voldemort free!_), with white leather interior on the seats and roof, and red velvet carpeting. Rocket's shell was green as lush foliage, with pink and amber jewels embedded all over it. Gunther said he has had Rocket for 6 years now, but the ministry paid for the shell as a bargaining gift to train and mentor me. I was sitting near the back, Gunther across from me. His eyebrow were knit up, his piercing eyes staring daggers at me.

"What? Is there something on my face?" I ask panicky, roughly wiping at my face for the nonexistent spot. He responds quickly, leaving his dazed look behind. "No, it's just...you're completely calm? If I were in your position, I would, ya know, be utterly manic!" He said this very expressively, his arms spread and moving up and down, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "G, I have nothing to worry about. I have a plan, sort of." I say confidently, barely containing a laugh outburst as his jaw dropped. "A-a-a PLAN! What the bloody he-" He started to yell, until he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His only flaw that I ever noticed was his temper. He was a recovering alcoholic, and was especially moody in the morning. I found all this out this morning. The car stopped at the entrance of Hogsmede, already crowded with dapper wizards in dress robes, and stunning witches in colorful dresses and blouses. The men greatly outnumbered the women, as a majority were in a reserved area for those whose names were entered in the reaping bowl. I hope Katniss and Hermione made it here safely. "We will discuss this after your companion is chosen." He declared glumly, sighing in defeat.

He exited first, Rocket's display tank floating behind the grumpy wizard. "Good luck lord Potter, I believe your friends story, as does my whole family." There goes that luck again, but this man seems to have an abundance of luck, so I won't refuse. "Thank you sir." I nod and head after Gunther and his star-studded turtle.

You'd think that I'd be the center of attention of this all, but that couldn't be further from the truth. First off, 10 other tributes are there, and all of their companions will be chosen as well. Second of all, my mentor has his glittering turtle on a floating cushion with golden tassels. This oddity has reporters swarming us, well them, the entire way to the temporary stage set up in front of the Hogshead. For the First Triwizard Tournament, there are 6 of us guys as tributes, meaning 6 male companions will have to be reaped for the criminal-female tributes. I really hope they aren't all serial killers. We finally make it to the stage, passing a 'pen' filled with nicely dressed women, looking within the age range of 17 through 24. They are dressed differently, to the point to a where I can tell where they are from. There was a group of a half-dozen girls in kilts, all with curly blonde hair that reached their waists; the flags pinned on their ruffled blouses gave way that they were from France. A brunette in the from with lots of freckles was crying on the shoulder of someone who looked to be her older sister. They wore the flag of the Dutch. A group of Americans and Canadians were anxiously looking around, sticking close to each other; one of them whispering occasionally. These girls don't want to be here, who would? The guys weren't any better, many more were crying, but a lot were staring at the other tributes filing up the steps and taking a seat in the chair bearing their name.

The Opening begins, and to my displeasure, the pink witch from the trial called "Dolores Umbridge" cast the _Sonorus _charm and spoke so shrilly and giddily, it made many green with nausea.

**_"Welcome to the Opening Ceremony for the first ever Triwizard Tournament! I will announce the names in Alphabetical order, then call for the volunteer. If no one approaches, I'll reach in the reaping bowl, and the name pulled will join their tribute on stage." That's when I noticed there were 24 chairs. I finally saw Hermione and Katniss. Hermione wasn't in the 'pen' because of her direct association with me, neither was any of my friends, so that's a plus. Katniss was standing near a group of South Korean and American girls, a small smirk on her face. Hermione gave me a reassuring smile as I took my seat, and Gunther and Rocket joined the other mentors; all clearly envious of his dazzling pet and all the attention they have been receiving. Maybe that will win me sponsors. " Ladies first! Christina Argento!" A red head with light brown eyes stepped forward hesitantly. I am curious as to what she did to get into Azkaban, hugged someone to death? I couldn't have been more wrong. Apparently, after your name is called, so is your felony. Yippee. She was actually in for 5 years now, for a heist at Gringotts. She managed to snag a whopping 10,000 galleons from an allegedly secure account, before finding out it was a flop, and she was caught on her way out the doors._**

**_"Any volunteers?" Umbridge asked happily, grinning like it was her birthday, a hand gently resting on Christina's shoulder. After about a minute or so of silence, she claps her hands together and strides over to the large glass bowl in the center of the stage. "Alright, since no volunteers stepped forward, time to reap!" She quickly reaches to the left half of the bowl, that is split down the middle, and pulls up a snow-white card, closed by a thin black strip of tape. She walks back to the paling girl, and clears her throat before opening the envelope. "And the first reaped companion is...Dennis Creevey!" A can hear all of the grunts and angry responses as the 14 year old boy took stage a look of determination on his face. He didn't want pity from anyone. For one second, I met the boy's gaze, and then I could tell he wasn't the first year that fell in the lake anymore. He was going to give this his all. They both took a seat after shaking hands, and I swear I saw a tear fall unto Argento's cheek._**

**_The next few whizzed by, and just my luck, all of the other tributes' last names ended before "Potter". An American girl with Auburn hair and blue eyes was the only on to volunteer so far. Her partner was convicted of treason, some guy named Snowden, also American by the looks._**

**_I took my place next to the bubbly witch, a smug look of displeasure graced upon her face. "Ah. If it isn't the-boy-who-murdered-his-classmate? I guess it's true what they say." I sent a pointed, yet annoyed look of confusion her way. She continued. "Oh, you know._**_Save the worst for last?**" I would have reached for my wand and blow her to bits, then and there. But my wand was still with the Ministry Auror. Am I really this daft, as to consider the murder of a Ministry official, in front of three-fourths of the Wizarding World? What has changed in me? Since when was I this...psychotic. Even in my free-time, I find myself contemplating suitable 'accidents' for some high-ranking politicians that have pissed me off in the past. My soul must be as dark as tar! Even with all that in mind, Umbridge was an different. I don't think anyone with a brain actually respects, or even likes her. I mean really, no one, absolutely no one, in their right-mind would favor a sadistic loon like her!**_

_**"I guess it is." I reply slyly, sporting a devilish grin. She looked shaken for less than a moment, it's brevity enough to be missed by the audience, but not me. I revealed the chink in her armor, and plan to use it to my advantage. She promptly recovers, oblivious to my recently gained knowledge of her. I am reminded once again of the wise saying that I always keep in mind:**_

_"You can learn a lot about a man by how he judges others. The assumptions he makes will reflect his own behavior or mindset." - Albus Dumbledore: Order of Merlin - First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot (former); Unofficially : Mass-manipulator, "Liar-of-the-Light", and my mentor oddly enough. The path he took to the top may have been crooked, and paved by half-truths and manipulation; but his determination was admirable, and his advice priceless._

**_"Well, without further interruption," The anger behind her soft-spoken words and false mile, almost tangible. "Allow me to present Lord Harrison James Potter, of House Potter, Black, and... Gryffindor?" This came out as more of a question, and the lady-in-pink was at a loss of words. She put forth no effort into hiding her disgust with me as she called for volunteers. I looked anxiously at Hermione, who just stared at me quizzically, then recovered by nodding with a sad smile; I avoided Katniss' eyes. We agreed not to draw attention to her, and me glaring at a time like this, would DEFINATELY do just that._**_ 5 seconds...7 seconds...10 seconds... I was beginning to worry until I heard her voice pierce the suffocating silence._

**_"I volunteer as partner for tribute Potter." She was sporting a defiant smile as she confidently strode up the podium stairs to join me. Our eyes locked once, and very briefly, but it was like flipping a switch on in a dark room. Everything she felt was present in her eyes, all rushing through me as I absorbed every bit that she allowed to be on display. Our moment of interaction lasted only a second, and was wisely placed during the mandatory handshake. Her hands were rough and worn in appearance, but the feel of them were therapeutic. They were as light as feathers, delicate as rose petals, yet firm as the ground we stand on. There was also this...electric feeling I got when our hands met. Holding her hand in my own was almost drug-like, as I felt slightly intoxicated after release._**

The Opening Ceremony ended a few moments after that, and the crowd cleared the village and headed for Airways, Floo Networks, and private planes. The Tournament was to hosted in the Netherlands, so everyone was eager to be in the city for better spectator-status. Yeah. The Tournament would be televised live, and if pull the right strings, you could rent out a spectator-box. The whole thing is sick, but it's stuff like this that really pissed me off. All of the Mentors, Tributes and their companions, were sent to their respective means of transportation, and ordered to pack all needed and appropriate items for travel. We had only six hours, so the Cuban chauffeur floored-it!


	8. The Netherlands

CHAPTER 8: The Netherlands

I learned the name of our Driver, the Cuban actor. His name is Olo Castellanos, and his claim to fame was this indie-film called "The Urban Deity of Love: The Story of Reyna Colorado Sanchez". He told Gunther and I all about filming in Mexico, and what it was like in America. If Katniss and I make it out alive, Gunther says he will have a plane booked for the states. Olo was a cool guy, more laid back than my mentor, but his accent was more difficult to decipher. We just chatted away the whole ride back to my temporary quarters, but I asked Olo to skip that and just take us to the station. I didn't have any possessions worth keeping with me. I asked Glenn to owl Hogwarts to send all of my stuff to the Burrow (with the permission of Mrs. Weasley of course), but they said that the Ministry ordered for it to be sent to the recently obtained Black Estate. The Potter Manor was destroyed in the first war, but the property was still in my family. Being Lord Potter, I have the choice of selling it. I'll cross that bridge when it comes. I personally placed my dad's invisibility cloak in Remus' care, since he knew my dad better than anyone else.

Gunther was holding Rocket's tank, with a light-weight charm placed on it. We were surrounded by oblivious Muggles, so all magical-persons were incognito. I only had a transfigurable windbreaker, currently a quidditch letterman jacket. It was gift from Dean Thomas. Last year, George said he heard of this thing called "Secret Santa" when he and Fred went abroad in America. Ron told us about it, and decided to adopt the custom for the Quidditch team. Dean had me, and I had Ritchie Coote. The guy was crazy about video games, being muggle-born, so I got him a Game Boy Pocket. He totally freaked out, and played 110% better the rest of season. Other than that, I had a small red ticket to reclaim my wand, a recently purchased toothbrush, and a glowing silver comb, all fitting in my pocket. The comb was a from Gunther. He took one look at my hair, owled the Ministry, and had it in my hands in under 8 minutes! He said if I was to travel with him (not like I actually had a choice), my _mane _needed to be tamed. He also added, to my displeasure, that my _mane _was the only reason I was a Gryffindor. We crossed over to platform 9 3/4, then to 9 7/8 from there.

The train that we took wasn't the red HE. It was a slim-built silver bullet train. On the nameplate,** "faldet varulv" **was engraved. It wasn't until we were aboard and taking our seats when I found out what that translated to. It was Danish for "fallen werewolf", explaining the color. I wanted to jump the tracks then and there. How could the Ministry allow such an offensive and controversial title? To even my own surprise, I was more bitter that Gunther the whole ride to the Netherlands arena.

The trip wasn't nearly as luxurious as the Hogwarts Express, but that was probably due to the fact that I accepted nothing that was offered from the servants. I just glared loathingly at them as they inched away from me nervously, probably thinking "if looks could kill...". It is known world wide that I killed Goyle, but I wonder if I could do it again, kill I mean. I brought it up to Gunther as we headed toward the training center, me in shiny metal cuffs.

"I don't know Harry, you seem alright to me. But then again, I was neighbors with a serial killer for eleven years, and I never noticed anything out of the ordinary..." He looked thoughtfully at me, "Yeah, maybe I should watch out for you." We both laughed at that remark, since my anger with the Ministry has worn thin since morning.

The training center's main purposes were to house the tributes, their mentors, and their partners. Katniss should already be there, so we planned to meet her in the lobby. Another purpose is to station the training lessons, private and group. The final use is to prep for all upcoming interviews with TV personality, Gilderoy Lockhart. To put it short, the incompetent git vanished all the bones in my arm, forcing the hand of the school healer to administer Skele-gro; that was not a specifically pleasant time in my life. The man's a fraud and his only talent is manipulating minds for his own personal gain.

Since the Ministry has never done anything like this, I'll have no examples to follow. That's where my partner comes in. If her best friend went through them, and they've been around since she could remember, the fight-to-the-death-pre-show should be a piece of Mellark-cake (I heard Katniss use that phrase once before, so I adopted it immediately!)

* * *

The entrance was more than I could have hoped for, completely empty since most everyone was tired and eager to rest up for tomorrow events: the chariot ride through the square, used to showcase our stylists' capabilities, and the Minister of Magic's speech. Rufus Scrimgeour was not the best wizard on the planet, nor the brightest, but he knew how to give awe-inspiring speeches. Another talent of his was staying in control of a situation, if not gaining even more leverage over everything and everyone else. He was a bit of a control freak, and a bit power-hungry, but not yet corrupt, like Fudge. At first glance, neither Gunther, nor I, saw Katniss. She fell asleep on a long peach-colored couch, her hair covering most of her face. I smiled and walked quietly over to her. I still wasn't permitted to use magic, or have my wand, so I had Gunther cast a 'gentle-waking' charm, and she stirred for a moment before peering at us through one parted space in her dark hair. "Took you long enough..." She muttered before sitting up. Katniss yawned, stretching her arms out, then took Gunther's offered hand and stood. I fetched her shoes, some open-backed sandals, and she slipped them on with ease.

"So, what floor are we Catnip?" I asked the half-awake girl leaning against me for support as we boarded the elevator. She jolted awake then, hopping two feet away from me, facing me with her wand clutched tight. "What did you just call me?" She asked quietly, her tone deathly, and her eyes painfully boring into me. "I...uhh..._Catnip_?" I pose it as a question, unintentionally of course. I could tell she was trying to keep her self collected, but in her eyes, I saw nothing but scattered thoughts. She just gawked at me, Gunther staring at the two of us intensely, but leaving it up to us to resolve. Is this a test, a trick? I don't think so, but I know that Catnip must have triggered something lethal in Katniss.

"Why would you say that? Why would you do that to me?" She said in a dead-calm voice, but her body was trembling. The flames behind her eyes were unmistakable, and I knew then and there that I might not even make it to the arena. Gunther has had enough. "Put you wand down, Katniss. You can't curse him...here. Harry, don't be and idiot. Stay away from that word. It clearly has some negative affect on her, possibly linked with an past traumatic experience, so choose your diction more carefully." I was struck by his forwardness, and that he sounded almost bored, but Katniss seemed satisfied with that and holstered her wand. I looked questioningly at Gunther, but he was preoccupied with a Muggle mobile device. I think he said something about a tweeter, or something, but he was engrossed just as quick. Katniss pressed the button for the twelfth floor, and leaned against the metal interior of the lift. _Note to self: Never mention cat-food in front of my tournament partner!_

I was beginning to think that we weren't going to encounter anyone on the may to our floor. When I say "our floor" I quite literally mean we have a **whole ** floor to ourselves. We were at the seventh floor when the lift went **_ping!_**and the stopped abruptly. Gunther and I shared a quick glance, Katniss just stared intensely at the parting doors of the lift. The doors of the lift opened fully, and in walks none other than Tilda Cambridge, the American girl who volunteered. "Err...hello Tilda." I say, breaking the awkward silence as she enters the elevator, standing between me and Gunther, while Katniss stands as far as possible from us all. Her eyes widen and she looks confusedly at me. "How do you know my name?" She demanded. Gunther looked at her bewildered. "**Tilda Cambridge **is a name that no one will forget anytime soon, along with **Katniss Everdeen**, since you two were the only volunteers." He said it with an amused grin. Katniss rolled her after turning briefly at the mention of her name.

"Oh, well that was embarrassing. I assume you are Lord Potter...Black...oh you know your name!" She was blushing roses as she stomped on the last syllable. Gunther and I joined in a laugh until Katniss cleared her throat. "Mhm-hm! Thank you. Now that your little _reunion _is postponed, Cambridge, could you please choose a floor so I could get to bed?" She asked, her tone thick with annoyance, and exhaustion. "Oh my, I'm so sorry! Yes, could you press 10 for me?" She asked as politely as humanly possible, which got me wondering. _Was this all a front, or was she really this...sweet? And if this is actually her, what's a girl like that doing in a televised deathmatch?!_

_"Oi!_ Tilda, why did you volunteer for Snowden? Did you know him personally or something?" I heard Katniss mutter something about being blunt. "Well actually, no. I guess it won't hurt to tell you this, in my case anyways. I haven't really had the best life, ya' know? My dad was Swedish, while my mom was from Texas, and they met at Stanford. My dad turned out to be a deadbeat and my mom became an alcoholic after he abandoned us. I was taken away from her when I turned eleven, and grew up in a foster home. Just when you think that my life couldn't get any better, my new legal guardian was abusive and negligent. Since that was what I was used to, I drifted towards the wrong type of people, and have been under **many **bad influences. This lifetime wasn't worth living, so I wanted to end it in the most creative way possible. Plus I heard that we get pampered like royals the whole time we're here, and I've been dirt-poor my entire life." She didn't look particularly sad after sharing this, but it broke my heart none the less. I just wish I could give her something to live for, even if we are both on our way to fighting for our existence, and me my freedom.

The elevator _**pinged!**_and the doors parted once more. It opened up to a gently lit corridor with shiny hardwood flooring, and subtle green patterned wallpaper. It set a very relaxing mood. Tilda nodded to us, and exited the lift, but before I could stop myself, I followed her off, shouting behind me as the doors clammed shut, "BE BACK IN A JIFFY!" Then I sprung towards her as she stopped mid-stride. "Umm...Harry? This isn't your floor you know? What is it?" She asked, obviously confused at my actions. "Well, it was nice that you shared that personal story about yourself with us. I wanted to thank you, and let you know that life often does give second chances. I mean look at me for instance. One day I'm a normal seventeen-year-old kid with dreams and goals, next moment I'm in some cuffs, my wand is gone, and I'm facing life in prison! No one believed that there would be any room for redemption for me, yet here I am, free to roam. And please, don't think I followed you to murder you, pre-games. That wouldn't be much fun, now would it?" We shared a laugh, and she nodded her head in agreement. We were walking back to her room, the halls all empty.

We finally made it after swapping a few more stories and getting to know each other a bit better. She told me all about her school in America, Creston Hills School for American Witches and Wizards. I told her all about Hogwarts, and we compared our curriculum, our Professors, and even quidditch. Apparently she was the keeper for her house, which was christened **the Spartans**. The history of America and her school was rich, and I hung on to every word as we neared the door marked with her name. "I guess this is me." She joked. "Yeah, I guess so. It was really nice to talk to you, you know?" I said. "You too, Harry. I don't know if it's too early to say this, but what the heck. You are honestly the closest thing I've ever had to a friend. No one was really ever around to listen, _truly _listen, like you do. I really appreciated that." Suddenly tears filled her eyes, and I did what I do best, and try to comfort her. "Awe, come here." I say quietly while pulling her in for a hug. This is not the first time I've been a shoulder to cry on this week; if I keep this up, word my spread to the guys and I'll never hear the end of it. But not here, because here none of that matters. I hate the fact that one of us will have to die for the other to survive, and she and Katniss can't both live either. This was a huge mistake.

I let go carefully, then take a step back, feeling utterly disgusted with myself. "I'm so sorry, Tilda, but this is wrong. I can't go forming friendships when in the end, either one of us dies, or both of us do, and I couldn't do that to Katniss. Please find it in your heart to forgive me. I know this life is **very **unfair, and you have been dealt the worst cards, but I'm no good. Becoming attached now will only make letting go worse, trust me I know. So this will be the final words I say to you before we enter the pre-games-period. Please forgive me, Tilda?" At first, she was gaping like a fish out of water, that I just cut her off from her lifeline. Then, she smiled. "Even if it was brief, and very fragile, thank you for that moment of dependability. Nothing in my life has ever been constant, but for a short while, you were, and I felt that continuing to live may actually have a purpose, I was happy. In my final moments, I will hold on to this, so thank you." We both grinned mad, and I gave her genuinely warm and caring hug, the last, then we went our separate ways.


	9. Please don't die

CHAPTER 9: Please don't die

I jog back to the lift, unsure how long I've been away. This is the first time since the day I met the fiddler in the park that I've lost track of the time. If I could lose myself like that more often, I just might make it through all of this easier than I think. I smash my thumb onto the button for out floor, and as soon as the doors part and I'm about to exit, a furious Katniss charges me with her wand.

"_**Get out of the elevator right now Harry James Potter...etc.!**_" Katniss was red with...whatever she was feeling, it was alarming. "Katniss, is everything okay? Where's Gunther?" I asked her concerned. "Oh, absolutely nothing is wrong with _me_! It's not like you just ditched us in an elevator to go snog that American numpty!"

"_Oi! _We did not snog! We just talked and I took her to her room! That's all! And she is not a **_numpty! _**She happens to be very intelligent, thank you very much! And hey, aren't you American too?" I yelled back in Tilda's defense, raising an eyebrow at Katniss. "American!? Of course not! Why does everyone assume Panem is America? Is it on their maps? NO! We are our own country, not too far off from the Galapagos. You know that guy who "discovered" evolution? Who do you think tipped him off? Oh, and if you two weren't snogging, I guess you're the best of friends then, yeah?" She was really starting to get under my skin now. "Since when do I answer to you, huh? Last time I checked, I barely just met you a day ago! You volunteered to accompany me, if you wish to make this experience more difficult, let me know how you want to die. Don't forget that I am a murderer, _Catnip!_" She froze up again, and I know I've struck a cord, but I don't wait for a response. I step past her stock-still form and stride angrily to the door marked by name. I slam the door behind me carelessly and bolt it.

The room was nice, but not for long. I undid my tie, yanking it from my collar, stripping off my jacket, and kicking my shoes off violently, one knocking a vase onto the floor where it shatters. That's when the real destruction started. I ran up to the slim-built plasma screen telly and ripped it off of the grey and red striped wall. Dangling cords sparked from where it was mounted, but I ignored them and threw the TV into the half-kitchen, it cracked as it made contact with the vintage grey fridge. I walked dead-calm up to the rubble in front of the fridge, ignoring the broken shards of television embedding itself into the soles of my bare feet. I thrust it open to find it was freshly stocked with food, and grabbed a nice sized pickle jar. I threw it so hard against the parallel wall that the pickles exploded on impact, decorating everything within a 5ft radius with green chunks. That still wasn't enough, so I grabbed a wooden chair from the small dining area and smashed it against the tile floor until it was a pile of splintered debris.

I changed into some jeans and a light white V-neck. It was time for me to go out.

I hopped into the first cab I saw. "_Kan je me naar het hotel Forten, alstublieft_?" I asked the Dutch driver. He nodded and took off, I paid him in advance to speed this up. We made it in 6 minutes flat, and it took me approximately 48 seconds to get the location of Hermione's room.

_KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. _A soft voice called for me to hold on a moment. I quickly pulled out my comb and tried taming my hair with the reflection of the doorknob. I was still kneeling as I placed my comb in my pocket again, the pocket of my quidditch jacket (still a letterman jacket). I stood just in time to meet face-to-face with my best friend, her face astonished at the sight of me. She had her hair pulled back in a loose bun, and had on black eyeliner that really made her dark brown eyes..._pop! _She was wearing a red t-shirt that read _"Rawr! Rawr! For Gryffindor!" _and a lion cub pouncing at a golden snitch. Her bottoms have been apart of a set with the shirt, because they had identical golden snitches making up the pattern. "Harry! What are you doing here?!" She whispered pointedly at me, yanking me quickly into the room, locking the door behind her. Once in, she shoved me to the side, causing me to crash over the side of the couch and land on the cushion. I reached for her at the final second, pulling her over with me, and she ending up on top of me.

"Gee Hermione, at least buy me a drink first!" I joked loudly as she squirmed in my arms. "Let _go _of me, Harry!" She yelled. Knowing she was growing agitated with me, I let go, and she bolts upright, swinging around to slap me. Her cheeks were flushed as she climbed off of me. I burst into hysterics, causing her to huff in frustration. "That is not funny, Harry! And stop being so **loud**!" Yeah, she's the one to talk, since she was yelling at me. "Lighten up!" I grinned, enjoying every moment of poking fun at my friend. "Harry, why did you come here, uninvited, and illegally?" She was no longer sporting the angry glare, but her cheeks were still red from embarrassment. "I didn't know I couldn't visit my _bestfriend_. Tonight just hasn't been my night, so I was hoping you could lighten my mood." I say sheepishly, my goofy grin vanished.

"Harry, you could have called me, you know?" She says gently as she places a hand on my shoulder reassuringly. I smile and softly pat her hand. "Some things just cant be felt through a phone call, even on telly cards." "Harry, do you want to talk about it?" She asks seriously. "Actually, yes, yeah I do."

I tell her all about Tilda, and Katniss' accusations. She interrupts me. "Wait, _did _you snog her?" Her face taking on a look of disgust. This is a perfect opportunity to mess with her. "I don't know, do my lips taste American?" And before she realizes what I meant, I peck her on the lips, then burst into laughter at the surprised face she makes. Hermione's eyes become saucers, and her jaw drops when my lips leave hers. "Harry! What is the matter with you?!" Her voice was angry, but one look into her eyes, the gateway to her soul, I could tell she was conflicted. "What, I can't joke?" I asked, feeling the palpable tension growing between us. We were still standing close, but Hermione was being distant. "Hermione, I was just joking! Besides, I thought you liked me?" I ask in my defense, though I feel it was wearing thin. She looked at me bewildered. "Oh, yeah? And what made you think that?" She questioned dangerously. "I-er-you basically said it in my temp cell block!" Now I didn't know what to think, or feel. My brain was starting to go fuzzy, like the day I sealed my fate, at Hogwarts. "Harry, yeah I do love you, but I'm...I'm..." She couldn't look at me in the eyes anymore. _She loves me? _"I'm seeing someone else." I turned away at that, knowing exactly who that **someone else **is. I hate gingers, they are either infatuated with me, stealing my girl, or angering my only chance of survival (although Tilda's hair was more like and auburn color)!

I ignored her for as long as I could while walking down to the lobby, but then she screamed at me. "**WILL YOU _LISTEN _TO ME!**" She bellowed angrily, stalking towards me steadily. She was crying, but I pretend not to notice. "What, you're gonna call Ronald up here to put me back in my place? 'Cause if so, remember what I did to Goyle!" She then looked scared, but that was quickly replaced with hurt. "Fine, be that way. But please, just don't die." Then she did the most unexpected thing ever, she walked up to me and kissed me, **really **kissed me. It only took me a moment to kiss her back, so I leaned into her and she wrapped her arms around my torso. I placed one hand on the small of her back, and the other on the back of her neck, pulling her closer to me. I don't know how long we stood there, but when we finally came up for air, my feet were sore.

"There. Now you can leave, and remember what I said." And she was gone.

* * *

I decide to floo to the Training Center, because the sun was starting to peer over the horizon, and I haven't slept all night. I stop in a pub and run to the loo. Just my luck, there was a mirror. I locked the door and started brushing my teeth, I can't meet my stylist with dragon breath. I run my enchanted comb through my thick black locks until I resemble my godfather (minus the mustache). Finally I twist a button on my jacket, which transfigures it to an red fitting tunic with golden thread embroidery on the sleeves and collar. My pants (also transfigurable) now stopping at the knee, were tattered at the ends, made to look like I ripped them with my bare hands. The floo network was fairly busy, but I made it back to the Training Center unnoticed, grabbing a strong brew of coffee on the way.

When I returned to my room, I was achy and exhausted, running on fumes and caffeine. It was no longer trashed, but was instead neat and every broken item replaced. I would have thought I imagined my episode if it weren't for the cuts on my hands, and the gashes in the soles of my feet. I assume Hermione hadn't noticed, nor did I, but I am too tired to feel pain. I am numb, and slightly depressed. I could name a dozen other liquids much preferable to this steaming mug of the black bitter brew.

About 30 minutes after arriving, I hear a knock at my door. To my surprise, its Gunther. "Well, look who finally decided to wake up!" He chirped. I chuckled at his enthusiasm. I was being buttered up for my death, and everyone expects me to celebrate. "Now, we will meet your stylist, Jessi." I nodded, trying to create a mental of image of this 'Jessi'. "Jessi comes from Panem, the country Katniss is from, and is one of the most talented, yet underrated artists of our age." He was slightly subdued, but I could tell he was getting excited. The boring part was nearing, which means it is also coming to a close, since its only three days. I will be in the arena in two more days.

**A/N: Hello readers, I just wanted to ask that you leave a review, or some kind of feedback. I feel that this pace is kind of slow, but a second opinion is welcomed. Should I include the training? Should I make the Tilda Cambridge a main character? Should Harry have an actual love interest, instead of several encounters? If he does have an actual love interest, who would you like to see? Thanks for reading, and as always, stay classy.**


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